Directed by

Written by

The rewards of selling drugs are so small compared with the
risks you run and the price you pay. That is the remorseless lesson of “Sweet
Nothing,” which tells the story of a Wall Street worker who wants a little more
money for his family, and ends up broke, addicted, sought by the police, and without
his family.

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One
of the key images in the early part of the movie shows him smoking crack for
the first time and saying, “So that's what I was missing.” One of the key
images from the closing scenes shows him huddled against a wall, sucking on a
piece of candy, waiting for drugs while watching the clock advance one
excruciating second at a time. Here is a man who had no idea at all how much he
could be missing.

The
film is about Angel (Michael Imperioli), who in the opening scenes celebrates
the birth of his second child. He visits his wife Monika (Mira Sorvino) in the
hospital, and then goes out to celebrate. His friend Raymond (Paul Calderon)
offers him a hit from a cocaine pipe, and he likes it. “Give me another,” he
says, perhaps unaware of George Carlin's famous line, “What does cocaine make
you feel like? It makes you feel like having some more cocaine.” Raymond tells
him the truth: “People sell their front doors for this stuff.” Angel doesn't
care, because already he is ready to sell his own front door. Before long he's
doing some dealing, finding customers at work, talking about how he can clear
$1,000 a week. One night he puts a pearl necklace around Monika's neck, and she
glows with delight. She allows herself to think that maybe this thing will
work--that Angel can make extra money, the family can benefit, and somehow
nobody will get hurt. One characteristic of all addictions is that they create
a state of compulsive self-monitoring. The user is constantly asking, How do I
feel? Have I had enough? Too much? Can I get more? Am I in trouble? Although
using the drug or drink of choice seems to create a state of benevolence and
relaxation, in fact it builds a wall that closes out other people. When a user
is high he smiles at you, but it's because of how he feels about himself, not
because of how he feels about you.

“Sweet
Nothing” understands this process. Gary Winick, who directed, and Lee Drysdale,
who wrote the screenplay, subtly mark out the stages in the progress of Angel's
addiction. He defends himself by claiming the best motives (he is dealing drugs
to help his family), although his real motive is to get high, and the family
obviously suffers. They move to a shabby apartment (“just for a little while”).
There is no food in the house. Monika cannot cope by herself. Eventually even
the small son knows that the man on the corner is a drug dealer. One night,
desperate for drugs, Angel dumps his kids at his in-laws' house, terrifying
everyone in the process.

Nor
are drugs kind to Raymond, the friend. He seemed better able to handle them
than Angel. Perhaps he was wise enough to balance his business against his
addiction. But eventually the cops are looking for him, and someone is dead,
and everything is coming to pieces. Angel's life in the closing stages of his
addiction can be symbolized by that guy on the old TV shows who tried to keep a
lot of plates spinning on the tops of poles, all at once.

Michael
Imperioli has been in some two dozen movies (including “Last Man Standing”),
often playing a tough kid, an outsider, troubled, complex. In “Sweet Nothing”
he shows a new maturity and command in his acting, maybe because he is given a
key role that runs all the way through. He doesn't fall for the actor's
temptation of making too many emotional choices; he understands that many of
Angel's problems are very simple: He wants to use more drugs than he can
afford. For Mira Sorvino, this is a new kind of role, and she is very good in
it, as a woman who wants to hold her marriage and family together, who is
willing to give her husband the benefit of the doubt, who believes more than
she should, stays longer than she should, and finally finds the strength to act
for herself.

Winick
uses an interesting narrative device--the story is told in a journal being kept
by Angel--and the journal segments suggest Angel has arrived at some sort of
end to his journey. Wisely, the movie doesn't spell out the details. We can
arrive at our own conclusions. “If I were still using,” addicts say, “I would
be dead.” There is a logical paradox there, but the message is clear enough.

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